Rose Without a Thorn
by Pir8grl
Summary: Well, he was intending to take Rose to see a play in the brand new Globe theatre...they just arrived a bit too early.
1. Chapter 1

"So, are we goin' to a renaissance faire, then?" Rose asked, twirling in her skirts and bodice.

"Time machine, Rose. We are going to the actual renaissance," the Doctor replied, with a long-suffering air.

"Where they have actual plague? And the Inquisition? And kings who like to cut people's heads off?"

"And art. And poetry. And culture. What?" he demanded, as Rose burst into giggles.

"You. And poetry?"

An odd look crossed the Doctor's face. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. _"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate,"_ he recited, without a trace of self consciousness.

"You are full of surprises today."

The TARDIS materialized with a gentle bump.

"Where are we, then?" Rose asked.

"Southwark. 1600," the Doctor informed her proudly. "We are going to see a play in the brand new Globe theatre."

"I don't think I'll ever get used to this," Rose breathed as they stepped out of the TARDIS.

The Doctor frowned as he glanced about them. Southwark in 1600 was a crowded, bustling district, full of pubs and public entertainments. The area they currently occupied was an enclosed park, scattered with formal gardens. A little way off, he could see the towers of a stately palatial residence.

"Is that the theatre, then?" Rose asked, puzzled. Even with her lack of A-levels, something seemed a bit off.

"No, Rose, that is most definitely not the Globe Theatre."

"Well, then, what is it? It's beautiful," she added, obviously enchanted with the view.

The Doctor reveled in her bright smile, knowing that Rose would be game for whatever sort of adventure presented itself. He reached for her hand. "Dunno. Let's go find out!"

* * *

"All right, we're somewhere along the Thames, easy enough to see that. I just wish I knew _**when**_, exactly," the Doctor fretted.

"Does it matter?" Rose replied. "It's pretty here. Everythin' doesn't always have to be some grand adventure, you know. Sometimes it's good just to _**be**_."

"Rose Tyler, scholar and philosopher," the Doctor teased affectionately.

"Yeah, right," Rose muttered.

The Doctor was startled to see the raw hurt that flashed across Rose's face. He stopped and took hold of her arms, firmly but gently. "I meant that, Rose. Brilliant, you are. You may not have a piece of paper from some piddlin' little London school, but you've made the entire universe your classroom. There's not many who can say that."

"But I still manage to do some spectacularly stupid stuff."

"Who doesn't? Thing is, you learn from your mistakes, Rose. There's not many who can say that, either."

She looked up at him from beneath those long lashes and smiled crookedly. "Yeah?"

He pulled her into a tight hug and rested his chin on top of her head. "Yeah."

* * *

Rose glanced up at the Doctor's face as they wandered along, her hand clasped tightly in his. "You know, I never did thank you properly for taking me to meet my dad."

"Not sure if I should say 'You're welcome,' or 'I apologize.'"

"You've got nothin' to apologize for…I'm the one that caused all the trouble."

"Yes, you did," the Doctor replied evenly.

"I really am sorry."

"I know you are."

"Still…I really am glad I got to meet him. My mum…you know, she told me stories, an' all, but actually _**meeting**_ my dad, it just made him so much more real to me."

The Doctor glanced down at his companion affectionately. _ "So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this and this gives life to thee,"_ he murmured.

"What's that mean?" Rose asked curiously.

"It means that as long as you remember someone, they're never truly gone."

"I like that."

"Thought you might."

Rose stopped suddenly, and frowned in concentration.

"What is it?" the Doctor asked. "I can see the wheels turnin' in there."

"You really are immortal then, aren't you?"

"Nine hundred years and counting, but that's hardly immortal, Rose."

"But you just said…as long as someone remembers you…and all the places you've been, all the lives you've touched…there'll always be someone, somewhere in time and space who remembers you, so you'll never truly be gone."

The Doctor smiled down at her with more than a touch of pride. "I never thought of it quite that way before. Like I said, brilliant, you are!" He leaned in and kissed Rose soundly on the forehead, and was rewarded with a radiant smile.


	2. Chapter 2

Rose was beginning to feel a bit over-warm when the Doctor spied someone coming along the road that led to the grand building that dominated the landscape.

"Finally!" he exclaimed. "We can go talk to them and get some idea of where we are!"

"Doctor, I'm getting' a bit tired…OK if I go sit in that garden?" Rose asked, pointing to a nearby walled enclosure.

"Just don't wander off, all right?"

"I won't," she promised, with all good intentions, as usual.

The Doctor strode purposefully up to the approaching heavily-laden wagon. "Hello! I'm the Doctor. I've been out walking and got a bit turned around. Was wonderin' if you might be able to tell me were I am?"

One of the fellows walking beside the wagon chuckled merrily. "You've managed to wander onto the grounds of the Palace of Placentia, lad."

"Greenwich, then," the Doctor murmured.

"The King is in residence…lucky his guards didn't catch you."

"Aye!" one of the men walking behind the wagon added. "We're to be the royal entertainment this night!"

"Traveling players, are you?" the Doctor asked.

"John Goodfellow and Company," the first man introduced himself.

"What're you playing, then? A bit of Shakespeare? Marlowe, perhaps?"

"Who?"

"It's a bit of a pageant about the Battle of Bosworth Field," the driver of the wagon explained. "The King likes his family history, he does. Just as long as it's not too recent."

"This one probably don't even know what Bosworth Field is," one of the other players jeered. "Look at how he's dressed! Probably from so far out in the hinterlands he don't even know what king we're talkin' about!"

"Hush, Toby!" Master Goodfellow scolded.

The Doctor smiled blandly. "Well, since you mention it…"

John Goodfellow studied him carefully. "You're a strange one," he said thoughtfully. "You know that the Palace of Placentia is in Greenwich, but not the year, or the King's name? Very well, then. 'Tis the year of Our Lord fifteen hundred and forty, in the reign of His Majesty, good King Henry the Eighth."

"God save the King," the driver intoned automatically, and the others echoed the sentiment with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

"His Majesty is in residence with his new wife -" John Goodfellow began.

"-who he's lookin' to make his old wife," Toby interrupted.

"Hold your tongue, if you fancy keeping' it," the driver groused.

"Right then," the Doctor said suddenly. "I'll be off." He turned quickly and walked briskly back toward the garden where Rose was (hopefully) waiting for him. King Henry the Eighth - 1540 - a wife he was dissatisfied with…that would be Anne of Cleves, which meant he already had his eye on Catherine Howard, a pretty girl of about the same age as Rose. Definitely not a good time or place for her to be wandering alone.

* * *

Rose was glad for the shade of the small, enclosed garden. The grass was pleasantly damp and the air was fragrant with the herbs that grew there. She felt something soft and warm twine around her ankles and smiled delightedly at the black and white kitten. "Hello, puss-cat." She stooped and picked up the small animal, who promptly started to purr.

"Oh, what a darling!"

Rose turned to see a pretty girl about her age, perhaps a year or so younger, dressed in an elaborate gown and headpiece.

"Is he yours?" the girl asked, holding out her hands for the kitten.

"No…um, my lady," Rose added, belatedly bobbing an awkward curtsy. "He just wandered up to me."

"I love kittens! I wonder if I could take him back upstairs? I don't think the queen would mind, she's really rather nice, but Lady Rochford's a grumpy old cow!" She eyed Rose appraisingly. "You're the first person my own age I've seen since I arrived. Do you live here?"

"No, I'm travelin'. Just got here myself."

"My name is Catherine Howard. How are you called?"

"Rose."

"That's pretty," Catherine said, cuddling the kitten. "Would you fetch me some sweets? And perhaps sit and talk to me a while? It's so boring up there."

"Sure. Why not?" Rose agreed, curious as to why this girl who was dressed as a princess would want to talk to her. And something about that name was nagging at her memory.

* * *

Following directions she'd been given by a gardener, Rose made her way to the bustling palace kitchen. "Um, hello? The lady in the blue gown? Miss Howard? She asked me to fetch her some sweets."

"That's 'Lady Catherine' to you," one of the cooks scolded severely. "How they expect me to serve royalty with this kind of help is beyond me."

"Never mind her, luv," a motherly looking woman said conspiratorially to Rose, beckoning her over. "We all have to start somewhere. Just remember, when in doubt, it's always 'my lady.' I just feel sorry for that poor, motherless girl, that's what. Bein' ogled by a man old enough to be her grandfather." She handed Rose a plate filled with small, daintily iced cakes and a snowy white linen napkin. "Run along now, dearie, and don't forget to curtsy!"

* * *

The Doctor scanned the area where he'd left Rose, but couldn't spot her. He thought he'd seen a flash of blonde hair in the garden, but that girl had been attired in full court regalia. Why did they never, ever listen? Don't wander off. Not that difficult of a concept. Especially here, in a time and place with actual plague, and the Inquisition, and kings who liked to cut people's heads off, among other things. Oh, and let's not forget, one very particular king with a wandering eye.

That thought stopped him short. A bitter, broken, old man, enthralled with a pretty young girl. It hit a little too close to home.


	3. Chapter 3

Maybe she'd decided to go looking for him. Huffing under his breath, the Doctor headed back towards the traveling players, hoping rather desperately to find his wayward companion before she got herself into any trouble.

* * *

Rose made her way back to the garden, just missing seeing the Doctor turn and stride off in another direction. She found Catherine seated daintily on a small stone bench, demurely petting the kitten, yards and yards of heavy brocade skirts settled neatly around her.

"That's a beautiful dress," Rose remarked, wondering how on Earth Catherine could stand to wear all that. The sleeves alone looked to have almost as much material as a winter coat. She passed the other girl the plate of cakes and sank gratefully onto the grass, happy to be able to move so freely.

"It was made over from one of my cousin's, but the trim was a gift when I joined the royal household," Catherine told her. "It did turn out rather nice, though." Grinning, she slid down off the bench to sit on the grass, a move that Rose suspected would not be considered quite proper behavior for a lady.

"Less chance of being seen," Catherine muttered.

"Why'd you want to hide?" Rose asked curiously. "I mean, if you're meant to be with the Queen an' all?"

"It's so boring and stuffy up there! Everyone's older than me, and all they do is sit around and play cards and do needlework all day. What about you? If you don't work at the palace, how did you come to be here?"

"Like I said, I'm travelin.' We just happened to end up here."

"'We?'"

"The Doctor an' me. He was meanin' to take me to see a play, but he got a bit turned around. Happens a lot, actually."

"Doctor? A physician, then?" Catherine asked.

"Sort of."

"And are you and he…?"

"No!" Rose exclaimed. "I mean…sometimes…I'm not sure, exactly," she finished up lamely.

Catherine gave her a knowing little smile, cuddling the kitten under her chin. "It must be nice. To have the freedom to choose, I mean."

"Don't you?" Rose asked curiously.

"Heavens, no. I'm a Howard; I do what the family tells me. But every time a man glances at me, I never know if he's seeing _**me**_, or the family." She selected a cake and nibbled it absently. "This Doctor that you travel with, was he your choice, or your family's?"

"Mine. My Mum's not too keen on him." Rose stifled a giggle, recalling a certain slap, and its aftermath.

"And does he care for you?"

"Yes," Rose replied, instantly and emphatically.

Catherine smiled wistfully.

"But if you could choose…if you could do anything you want…what would it be?" Rose asked softly.

"I'd like to marry a man of my own age, or at least, my own choosing. Someone who just loved…me."

"But couldn't you just…I dunno…run off? If you actually met the someone and fell in love an' all that?"

"Not so simple when you're part of the royal household. And besides, how would we live? We're poor by the family's standards, but still, I've never had to do things, and I'm not at all clever."

"Is there someone?" Rose asked gently.

Catherine smiled with an eager gleam in her eye. "One of the King's gentlemen, Thomas Culpeper."

"What's he like, then?"

"Dashing. Handsome…really handsome."

"An' does he like you, too?"

"I think so. I hope so. It's just…even if he didn't feel exactly the same about me, I don't want to be married off to someone twice my age, just because it's good for the family."

"Hasn't there ever been anyone that you chose for yourself?"

"Once, sort of, when I lived in my grandmother's household, but then I was placed here, and everything changed. His name was Francis," Catherine confided with a wicked little smirk.

"Rose! There you are!" the Doctor exclaimed in relief, coming around the low stone wall.

"That's him?" Catherine whispered to Rose.

"Yeah. Lookin' out for me, as usual." Rose waved cheerfully as she scrambled to her feet.

"Come on, Rose, we really need to be going," the Doctor said briskly, glancing back over his shoulder and seeing a group of richly garbed gentlemen headed their way.

"Aren't you going to introduce me?" Catherine asked mischievously.

"Doctor, this is Lady Catherine Howard. Lady Catherine, the Doctor."

A strange expression crossed the Doctor's face as he looked down at the young girl seated on the grass. "_But thy eternal summer shall not fade_…" he said quietly.

"Poetry," Catherine said, with a sidewise glance at Rose. "You speak very well for an itinerant physician."

"Rose, we really need to be -"

"Lady Catherine!" a deep voice boomed. "We are delighted to find you here."

The Doctor quickly dropped to one knee, catching Rose's sleeve and dragging her down with him.

"Your Majesty," Catherine murmured, bowing her head demurely.

"Culpeper, assist the Lady."

A handsome, richly dressed young man stepped forward and carefully helped Catherine to her feet.

"And who is your charming little pet?" the King asked, indicating the black and white kitten that Catherine still held.

"I thought to call him Domino, your Majesty," Catherine said softly. "If I am allowed to keep him, that is."

"Of course you may," the King said genially. "Such a little thing to bring such a smile to the face of so lovely a lady. Such a radiant English rose, is she not, gentlemen? A rose without a thorn. Dismiss your maid and manservant and walk with us," the King instructed.

Catherine flicked her hand at Rose and the Doctor dismissively. Her eyes caught Rose's for just a moment though, and something in her glance reminded Rose of a small animal, caught in a trap.

"Doctor?" Rose asked with a sudden foreboding. "What's going to happen to her?"

"Let's get home," the Doctor replied, taking her hand. The grip of his hand was as comforting as ever, but there was a grim set to his mouth that added to her unease.

* * *

The Doctor found Rose in the library, a ponderous volume on the kings and queens of England balanced open on her lap.

"So, she died. She was younger than me, and she died."

"Yes. I'm sorry, Rose, but she did."

"But that's not fair!" Rose said brokenly, tears starting to leak from her eyes as she shut the book and pushed it away. "I mean, sure, she was a bit silly and boy crazy, but that's not a good enough reason to kill her!"

"No, it isn't," the Doctor agreed.

"All she wanted was to be in love. Is that so wrong?"

"'Course not. It's what makes you human."

"We've got a time machine. Couldn't we…?"

"No, Rose," the Doctor said firmly. "Catherine Howard's death is part of a very complex web of historical events. Touch one thing and it could all topple. It has to happen." He slipped his arm around Rose's shoulders, pulling her close.

"Reapers," Rose mumbled.

"Yeah, reapers. But also, Rose, just think of what comes next! Shakespeare, the great age of exploration, Elizabeth I…"

"Still not fair…"

He gently tipped her face up. "Look at me, Rose. It's like we were talkin' about before, about your dad, remember? Well, Catherine's like that, too. You remember her, as a person, not just a name in a history book, so she'll always live on, in your memory."

"S'not the same, and you know it." Rose's face crumpled and she pounded her fist against his leather-jacketed chest as she sobbed.

"No, I suppose it's not," the Doctor admitted regretfully. Not to Rose. A nine-hundred year old Time Lord might take these things in stride, but all she could see was a girl of her own age who'd been denied the life she wanted, and died far too young. He wrapped his other arm around her and held her tightly, weathering the storm. It was so human - so _**Rose**_ - to latch onto someone, somewhen, whose death was a necessary part of history and want to save her. It ate at his soul, too, truth be told.

The Doctor only hoped that he'd never find himself facing a moment when the universe dictated the sacrifice of the girl in his arms. He wasn't at all sure that he wouldn't just let the rest of creation go to hell, rather than lose her.

* * *

_**Author's notes: **_ Where did this one come from? Well, a couple of weeks ago, we got in a book at work, a novel about Catherine Howard. The girl in the cover art looked a bit like Billie Piper, which got me to thinking how Rose and Catherine Howard were about the same age…and the rest, as they say…

The quotes are from Shakespeare's Sonnet 18. 


End file.
